


we have different heartbeats but all the same heartbreaks

by hesperides



Series: entre la nuit, la nuit et l’aurore [2]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4802816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesperides/pseuds/hesperides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's weird, and almost scary, but completely exhilarating. It's nothing like anything he's experienced before and it almost makes him feel like he can't breathe all over again. (urban fantasy au, precanon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i know you're lonely too

Totsuka keeps his head down.

It's not a personality trait, not the result of him being uneasy to look people in the eye. It's a survival tactic. He sees what he shouldn't and that's dangerous, makes him dangerous, he's known that for as long as he can remember. 

If he was better, more apt, he could use it as a strength, as his uncle does. Charms and wards line their small apartment from the threshold to kitchen cabinets, and even in his drunken stupors he can tell when something unwelcome is sniffing around their borders. 

He tried to teach Totsuka, when he spent less time in his bottles and unwashed shirts. But anything, _everything_ he tried always ended in utter and abject failure, unable to perform even the most elementary of spells. His uncle gave up quickly. So Totsuka can only go by his rules.

'If you see something you shouldn't, don't.'

There are residents of Shimizu city that can't always be seen by humans, but Totsuka isn't just any human. That makes him a threat, in their eyes, even if he's got nothing behind that rare vision to make him dangerous. Quite honestly, he's totally defenseless. More or less a sitting duck, constantly skirting the edge of finding himself in a life-ending situation.

He can't even count the number of times he's had to purposefully run into Bakeneko picking pockets in the subway, has had to make himself trip over the hidden piles of sticks and rocks Kappa children set up by the river. They laugh among themselves and he acts the idiot. But bruised knees are better than a snapped spine. 

\---

He makes his first mistake when he's thirteen.

The sun's already started to set by the time school lets out, the frigid winter air biting especially harsh through his unseasonably light jacket. He knows the teachers have been talking about him, how unkempt he looks, how every time they try to call his house they get a disconnected signal. His uncle's been gone for a few days again, leaving without so much of a note to let Totsuka know where he's gone off to. The refrigerator is starting to get alarmingly empty, and the pain that hangs just below his ribs beginning to become achingly familiar. 

It's the pain that distracts him, makes him stop and stare when the wind picks up throws a girl from his class down across the sidewalk, the trio of Kamaitachi causing it kicking her school bag open as they laugh, sending her pencils and loose notebook paper flying out into the street. One of them whistles a little, the wind replying in kind as it whips her math homework up, out of her reach, before sending it falling sharply down into a pile of slush. They look a little older than Totsuka, like they might be high schoolers-- or they might like to be high schoolers.

He thinks about going to help her, briefly, is still thinking about it when the tallest one glances his way, their eyes locking for a sliver of a second before Totsuka's breath stops.

"Hey!"

He doesn't see which one of them says it, having already turned heel to run in the opposite direction. _Stupid_ he thinks to himself after his feet have already started to move. If they didn't know before they definitely knew now, and he only gets as far as a sharp turn in a nearby alleyway before he feels himself lift off the ground, just for a second, before falling face first and hard into the cold concrete.

The blood tastes sharp in his mouth as he feels a swift kick to his side, can't do anything besides try and move his arm to block it in case they try it again.

"Which clan you with, huh?"

"This isn't clan territory, hasn't been for the last decade."

He still doesn't look up at them, doesn't until one sends a well placed kick into his other side, rolling him over onto his back so they can peer almost curiously down at him. They look less like people now, noses a little too long, pupils a little too big and black. 

_They think I'm a part of one of the families_. It would make sense-- people outside of the many exorcist and magician clans that occupy the city aren't supposed to be able to see yokai when they slip back into the mist, outside of the perception of the average population. _Should I lie? Maybe if they think someone will come after them, they'll let me go._ He searches desperately through his head, trying to remember the names his uncle would drop sometimes in annoyance, which one would save him if he could convincingly fake ties to it.

"Hey, don't they teach them how to banish by this age?" 

His heart almost stops when he hears it, gaze immediately turning to the one who speaks. The one with his foot on Totsuka's chest nods in agreement, pressing his heel into his collar bone.

"I'm not getting even a low reading off this kid, its gotta be a stray."

"Huh."

As soon as he feels the foot move off his chest he practically throws himself off the ground, desperately willing his legs to move towards the far end of the alley, out to where it opens into the street. He gets about two steps before a hand closes around the back of his neck, lifting him clear off the ground.

"You can't kill it."

"Not going to, dumbass. We just need to make sure it won't cause any trouble."

The one holding him tighten his grip as another circles around to face him, regarding him with a cool kind of cruelty. Totsuka's desperate now, kicking weakly at the yokai behind him, feet hitting with ineffective thuds against his knees.

His whole body stills when the one looking at him reaches out to touch his face, fingers skirting almost gently along his cheek, traveling up and stopping just under his left eye. Totsuka can feel it as the nails grow, sharpen, start to cut into shallowly into his skin. His mind is racing, trying to think of something, anything, to get him out of here.

 _It's your own fault. If you die here, it's because you broke the only rule._ He can't help but think it with a certain air of hopelessness.

He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to rear his head away from the clawed hand reaching for him. He doesn't know whether or not he's imagining the smell of smoke in the air when he feels the boy behind him stiffen, and the hand on his face drops away.

"The hell," it's a deep voice that breaks the sudden, palpable silence in the alley. It doesn't belong to any of the boys, sounds a lot older than any of them are (or appear to be).

Totsuka lets one eye slowly, cautiously open. There's the one that was standing in front of him, still there, but his posture is dropped low, almost defensive. He's glaring daggers at the man that's appeared a few meters away, who himself is regarding the scene with a look of muted confusion.

The first thing Totsuka notices is how tall he is, broad, dressed in monochrome colors which only serve to make his fiery hair stand out even more in the darkness. His eyes are yellow, almost gold, as crazy as that sounds, and Totsuka can't help but find himself staring at them, even as the man's gaze is directed at the boys assaulting him.

"What do you want?" the voice comes from directly behind him, so he knows it has to be the one holding him. He sounds even enough, but Totsuka can hear the strain, the fear in it. 

The man's lips press into a thin frown around the cigarette in his mouth, eyebrows furrowing.

"Drop the kid," he answers, like it should be obvious.

The yokai in front bristles, nearly shouting back, tone jarring compared to the even drawl the man's been speaking with.

"It's none of your damn business, bloodsucker! Get lost!" 

Totsuka hears the words, but doesn't really listen to them. His head's starting to feel a little light, as breathing's been something of a difficulty since he's been held off the ground. He just keeps his eyes on the stranger the whole time, even as the man's jaw clenches and his eyes narrow. Totsuka can barely register it as he surges forward in under a second, suddenly _much_ closer than he was before, sending the boy closest to him slamming into the alley wall with a knock of his fist.  
That's all it takes for him to dropped to the ground once again, his attackers taking off in the direction of his school while echoing various curses and threats, that word 'bloodsucker' thrown in with a definitely noticeable frequency.

Totsuka's lungs burn as he gulps in huge breaths of air, eyes watering as he pushes himself up on shaky arms. His vision blurs a little as he tries to gets his bearings, goes to a complete wash of watercolor as he's pulled up to his feet-- strongly, firmly, but not entirely ungentle.

When everything comes back into focus he's met with his mysterious savior. Or, his chest, at least, has to tilt his head up to get a good look at his face. His expression has returned to mostly neutral, though he can see a little bit of 'what did they even want with this brat' in it.

"Thanks," he finally manages after a few more inhales of cold air, gaze steady as his looks up at the man.

"You're human." it isn't phrased like a question, but Totsuka can still tell it's one, at least partially. He knew from the second he hit the Kamaitachi, this guy had to be _something_. He just looks pretty human, gold eyes aside, if maybe a little paler than was strictly healthy.

"Yup," Totsuka nods, his usual smile sliding easily back onto his face. That makes the man raise an eyebrow, but he really can't help it. He feels a little strange, still a bit dizzy, but also slightly giddy. "Do you save strangers a lot? Are you like a vigilante?"

The man's stare turns incredulous, dropping his hand from Totsuka's shoulder where he'd pulled him, moving to take the dying cigarette out of his mouth and toss it carelessly to the ground. 

"I'll take that as a no, then," he almost laughs, heart beating hummingbird quick in his chest. "But, um, thanks! Again, you totally rescued me. You must be a really nice person."

He's turning away now, but Totsuka caught a lopsided smirk on his face as heard him speak, and something about that makes him bold, makes him take a step closer to him.

"I'm Totsuka Tatara. It's nice to meet you."

When he turns his head back to look at him, something like disbelief written clear on his face, Totsuka feels his stomach do a cartwheel. It's weird, and almost scary, but completely exhilarating. It's nothing like anything he's experienced before and it almost makes him feel like he can't breathe all over again.

He just shakes his head, moving to tug his arms out of beaten, well worn leather jacket he's wearing, before dropping it on Totsuka's head. Even though he moves as fast as he can to clear his line of sight, he knows by the time he does the man will be gone.

Totsuka is alone in an alley, chest heaving and legs unsteady. If it weren't for the bruises starting to form on his body and the jacket in his arms, it would be easy to think that nothing even happened. All he can do is squeeze the garment to his chest, feel how inhumanly cold it is despite having just been worn, smell the cloying scent of tobacco that permeates it so much it might as well be one with the leather.

Totsuka is thirteen the first time he falls in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been rolling around in my head FOR LITERAL YEARS and i'm throwing this out now so it will at least partly!! leave me alone!! as i try to work on other things first!! tentatively setting this part for 3~ish chapters. if i ever do get to the other parts ship tags + characters + categories will be added. will contain a major age difference relationship of the immortal + human sort so if that isn't your cup of tea just warning you now. totsuka/mikoto/kusanagi is the endgame here. kisses you all.


	2. i remember when your head caught flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe since you can't bring yourself to talk me, I should refer to you like royalty, hm? Your Highness? King?"
> 
> (alternatively, 'I Was a Pre-teen Stalker')

He doesn't see the Kamaitaichi around his school after that. Or in the streets nearby. That's a blessing, if anything, and it isn't really the trio of not-boys Totsuka finds himself scanning his surroundings for.

The jacket he has, still, tucked away in a corner of the apartment where he knows he won't find it. He doesn't wear it, doesn't think the questions that would come with him actually using it are worth the trouble, but ... just knowing that he has it is something.

For most people that'd be enough, but, Totsuka has never been most people. Every time he sees it his curiosity only grows, stretching and yawning until he can't resist the call. It becomes a hobby, then, his own little personal mission. Definitely not a fixation, definitely not a little after-class stalking.

It's still too cold to be comfortable as he roams the streets by his school, watching everything while also watching nothing. The air might be frigid but the apartment's not much better, and his uncle's moods have gotten bad again. He'd rather be outside, no matter how numb his hands become or red his ears get.

He makes it into his own little after school routine. After everyone's let out he makes his way to that alley,al though he knows he won't find him there, but it's where he likes to start. After that he heads out to the other side of it, picking a direction and starting to walk. He lingers where he sees creatures congregate beyond the sight of normal people, pretending to tie his shoe or window shop while he eavesdrops, never too long to rouse suspicion. 

It takes a hand full of days doing that before he realizes it would probably help to broaden _who_ he's looking for to _what_ he's looking for. He could've heard the person he's looking for mentioned ten times over by this point, but since he doesn't know his name, he'll probably have to look down other avenues. 

The only problem is ... he has no idea what that guy was. Usually yokai are pretty easy to identify, from some weird vestigial physical quirk, hidden behind a glamour impermeable to most humans. But, for the most part, he had appeared to be a normal person, yet definitely not. He could ask his uncle about it ... but something tells him that's a bad idea.  
All he has is that word, 'bloodsucker'. The boys said it like it was an insult, something to be ashamed of. There were plenty of yokai who drank blood, or ate humans, and it generally wasn't looked down upon, at least to his knowledge. What creature could Totsuka's mystery man be to illicit such a reaction-- a creature that actually _existed_ in Japan, at least. There was the obvious, ridiculous option, but even Totsuka wasn't silly enough to entertain that.

\---

Turns out, he probably should've.

It's a pretty shot in the dark piece of information he catches from two elderly Jorogumo women gossiping in the convenience shop. 'Such a nice neighborhood, a shame about the man who bought that building. I thought it was just a rumor, that there were any in Japan, but they're definitely the real thing.'

That air of mystery is just too good of an opportunity for Totsuka to pass up, and while most people would've at least wanted to know what kind of foreign and despicable creature they had been tracking for the last two weeks, he isn't very concerned. The excitement of having even a vague possible idea trumps all possible good decision making, humming and buzzing through him as he makes the trek down to the mentioned area.

It's quite a ways from his school, longer than he was expecting it to be, for whatever reason. The sun's sunk low in the sky by the time he reaches the neighborhood, rosy tones giving everything a warm cast, despite the slowly dropping temperatures, making it seem almost welcoming. 

He knows why spiders were talking about it so glowingly, now. It seemsalmost out of time, a cluster of small, brick building squeezed in a few winding streets between tall, sharply cut metal skyscrapers. He notices quite a few yokai and other spirits walking along, some in a friendly human visage, others tucked away into their unseen forms that he expertly lets his gaze slide over. 

Not knowing exactly what he's looking for makes it a bit difficult, but Totsuka really can't say that he minds. It's a nice place to stroll along in, even if his feet have started to ache, but it's a familiar feeling. A little unwelcome, as it always is, but it's not something he lets settle in his mind, pushes it away along with the nagging worries of how long of a walk it'll be from here to the apartment.

All the buildings are cute and quaint but one in particular he has to stop in front of, to take full breadth of it. Sitting on the corner of Shimizu, Japan, is a bar front that looks like it was plucked right out from some winding stone street in London and plopped down in the middle of a foreign city. The rosy wooden exterior looks authentic, the stone steps leading up the to the front door worn and aged, and Totsuka can't help the urge to circle around to one of its sides, squinting through the window as he tries to catch a glimpse of what was inside.

Not a lot, surprisingly enough. No lights on, making it hard to see-- which was a bit curious in and of itself. It's a bit late not to be open yet, but then, from what he can see, it didn't really look like it was 'open' at all. There's a bar top, yes, but there didn't seem to be much stocked behind it, most of what he assumed was furniture hidden under tarps to keep the dust off, along with several large boxes stacked periodically throughout the place. 

He's focusing on trying to see what was inside the box closest to the window he had perched himself at when he thinks he sees a flicker of movement behind the bar, too fast to fully register, and he dismisses it as a trick of the light. Not a second later, the front door swings open, bell chiming merrily as a towering man with a shock of red hair steps outside, just as the last beam of dying light falls away in the sky.

Totsuka can feel his eyes go huge, almost unbelieving. The man doesn't notice him immediately, gold eyes scanning up along the skyline before they come down rest on the street, moving along until Totsuka comes into his view.

The expression on his face as their eyes meet is just a few tics short of dumb shock. That might put most people out. Not Totsuka.

"Hey! You!" there's no nervousness in Totsuka's voice as it cuts through the chill air, turning to face the man head on, thrusting a hand out to point at him accusatorily. "You never introduced yourself!"

He is definitely into full dumb shock now, staring and Totsuka like he has a second head on his neck.

"Y'serious?"

"Dead serious!" Totsuka's rapid fire reply only makes the man balk more, making it too easy to add an extra quip of "Is something on my face?"

His jaw works around the unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, still regarding Totsuka like he's going to rear back and start spitting fire at any minute. Something sets in his expression, after a long a second, and he locks eyes with the boy with a strange intensity.

"Get lost, kid."

The words seem to weigh heavy in the air, spoken with a tone of almost commanding direction. Totsuka blinks, never breaking eye contact, before his mouth slopes down into a small frown.

"Wow, rude."

The man's eyebrows shoot up, and he looks almost-- panicked? Though that seems weird, Totsuka hasn't done anything to freak him out (yet). It doesn't stop him from turning on his heel and marching down the street in the opposite direction.

"Hey, hey!" Totsuka calls after him, jumping down from where he had perched and booking it after him. He's walking pretty fast, but not super-human fast, so it only takes a couple jogging strides to catch up to him. He still won't look at him, even as Totsuka falls into step at his side. 

His reactions are ... surprising, to say the least. Totsuka's almost at a loss in terms of what to do. Almost.

"So are you just really rude? You seemed kind of cool, but now I think you're just really awkward. Do you talk to other people a lot? You probably need more practice. Where are we going? Do you own that bar? Why isn't open? Did you just move in?"

He doesn't answer him, still looking like he just got doused with cold water while Totsuka trots alongside him, constant stream of speech never seeming to slow or stop.  
"If you aren't gonna tell me your name, I'll have to make one up for you. Do you _really_ want to chance that? I might be a total weirdo! I could name you after a food. Something spicy. Do you like spicy food?"

He's just talking to fill the silence now, bopping along happily next to the man as they walk down the block, around the corner, into the family owned convenience store. The man's buying ... cleaning spray. Well, at least it isn't something suspicious, like lighter fluid? 

"Do you want me to guess it-- your name? Your silence makes me think you prefer the making up my own name method. I'm still stuck on thinking a food that would describe you best."

The girl behind the counter is a direly unimpressed teenage looking girl, some kind of nature spirit if Totsuka had to guess by the way her eyes glow, who looks between the two of them and says absolutely nothing as she checks him out.

He heads out of the store immediately, going back the way they came, finally lighting his cigarette as Totsuka continues to sing-song next to him. The fact that he went this long without it makes Totsuka think he's unnerving him, and is unsure if that's the reaction he wants.

"Maybe since you can't bring yourself to talk me, I should refer to you like royalty, hm? Your Highness? King?"

That makes his steps stutter, throwing Totsuka a second long incredulous look before remembering that he's trying to ignore the boy. It makes Totsuka laugh wildly, probably not the response the man was hoping for.

"King then, definitely, definitely~" he continues on through barely suppressed giggles, almost hopping along comfortably next to him.

When they reach the bar again the man heads in, not even giving Totsuka a cursory glance back. Totsuka pauses, then, suddenly unsure of what to do. He's come this far, but actually entering a strange building to follow a strange man who he doesn't even know the name of seems a little out there, even for him.

The sun's completely hidden now, only a few warm rays of light remaining at the edges of the sky. He takes a numbingly cold breath in, shivers as it sparks in his lungs, and pushes open the door.

What he finds inside is his mysterious stranger standing helplessly over a couch, the only piece of furniture in sight that isn't covered in a protective tarp. He has to take a few steps closer to confirm that he's seeing ... yes, a giant, dark stain, on the very expensive looking fabric.

"Wow ... King, what'd you do?"

\---

"Mikoto?"

"Nn."

"Why is there a child in my bar?"

He hadn't actually been planning to come in today. He still had a lot of other things to take care of, licenses to procure, funds to finish transferring. But something, some small, nagging feeling, had told him it was important to make a quick stop in to the bar.

Finding his best friend sitting at the bar top wearing an expression just short of utter defeat while a scrawny middle school kid dabs precisely at his newly reupholstered 1930s era Danish sofa with a bottle of club soda was not on the list of things he had expected to find.

Kusanagi's day isn't exactly getting off to a routine start.

"Ah, hey!" The kid turns to greet him, waving merrily with his free hand. He's small, can't possibly be older than twelve, looks like he could easily stand to put on a couple of kilos. The way Mikoto's staunchly turned to face anywhere but in his direction hints that there's something up with him, but he looks and smells ... perfectly, ordinarily human.

"His name's Mikoto, huh? He wouldn't tell me." that statement only raises more questions, but the kid says it as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Maybe the mystery quality the boy's got going for him is the fact that he's totally nuts? It'd explain a good fifty percent of the situation.

"He's got terrible manners, can't take him anywhere." Kusanagi replies easily enough, eyes still darting between the kid and Mikoto to try and discern a little bit more of what exactly had led up to this. Mikoto has the basic decency to meet his gaze with an entirely defeated and apologetic one of his own, at least, but that information doesn't add up. "Would you mind telling what you've got going on, there?"

"King spilled something. He was going to try and clean it up but it would've left a stain, so I gave him some assistance." 

"Uh huh." That explains the especially guilty look Mikoto's got about him right now, but pretty much nothing else. It's hard to keep a crooked smile off his face when he makes the connection with who that royal title has to be referring to. Poor Mikoto, how the hell did he always get himself in these situations?

But then, it was probably only a regular thing because he's always had Kusanagi there to get him out of them.

"I appreciate the help ... what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. It's Totsuka, Totsuka Tatara."

"Totsuka-kun, then, I really do appreciate your help," it's easy for him, almost second nature as he slips into his oh-so friendly, most disarming tone of voice, taking a step towards the boy. He hates when he has to do this to kids, knows Mikoto isn't a fan of it either, which is the only reason he can come up with as to why he hadn't taken care of it himself earlier.

When he locks eyes with the boy there's more than just intensity behind his stare, that all too real, inescapable compulsion that he's perfected over the last few decades. Even trained humans have a rough time keeping him off at this point, and even if it's not a skill he's particularly proud to have, it more than makes up for its underhandedness in just how useful it is.

"I think it's for the best if you'd leave now, and forget about everything and everyone you saw here."

A second goes by, maybe two. The boy blinks, never breaking eye contact with him, before he cocks his head to the side, corner of his mouth turning down into a little frown.

"Um, can I ask why?"

He can feel his face as it twitches, smile becoming more than a little menacing as he turns to look a Mikoto, who of course has to immediately hide the shit eating grin that appeared the moment the kid replied to him. 

Well, that explains part of it.

"Where the hell did you find this thing?" Mikoto just shakes his head, still doing his best not laugh in Kusanagi's face.

"Hey, don't talk about me like I'm not here." the kid takes offense to that comment, apparently, expression now a full out frown. 

"Sorry, sorry," it's gonna be embarrassing for him to lose any more composure in front of a very small, very glamour-immune child. Kusanagi just has to cut his losses, sighing out the uneasiness that hangs around his shoulders. "... you're not an exorcist, are you?"

"Do I _look_ like an exorcist?" Totsuka looks almost offended by the suggestion, and yeah, there is definitely something wrong with this kid. "It's not fair, though, I could never figure out what King is. Are you same, mister?"

"As this guy?" he aims a thumb at Mikoto, to which Totsuka responds with a vigorous nod of his blond head. " Yeah, just so happens I am."

"So tell me!" the kid looks so intent when he says it seems almost a crime to deny him. Kusanagi looks back over at Mikoto, giving him his best 'what the hell' shrug.

Totsuka watches like there's about to be a fireworks display as Mikoto lazily lets his mouth fall open, canines elongating a beat later with that eerie crunching, slightly wet sound they make.

It's drowned out by the kid's elated shriek of "I KNEW IT!"

Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember........when i said ... this would be like three chapters....... nah. not happening


	3. let this be our little secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> terribly unsatisfied with this but oh well. actually things soon.

Totsuka comes back the next day. Kusanagi had hinted _very heavily_ that he shouldn't, but hadn't directly forbidden it, so technically! He wasn't doing anything wrong! He even thinks up a super great excuse for why he came back half way across the city, that he left something there yesterday and now he has to look around your bar for an indefinite amount of time until he finds it, oops!

It's right at sunset when King (Mikoto, he reminds himself internally, but for some reason the nickname sticks) exits through the front door again, greeted by Totsuka sitting cross-legged on the front steps, reading a library book and trying very hard not to shiver.

"Hi!" Totsuka chirps, attempting not to sound over-excited for some reason. Trying to contain his energy has long been a losing battle, but for some reason he feels like he needs to tone it down a little, like he's dealing with a very finicky cat that's going to get scared off if he comes on too strong.

King just looks at him, expression something like resignation but not entirely unamused about it. It's definitely not a negative reaction, and that makes Totsuka feel a little lighter, a little more bold. He stays quiet despite that, waiting while King takes out his lighter, flicking it open with a smooth motion to light the cigarette already hanging from his mouth.

"You came back," he starts, after taking a drag. "Didn't Kusanagi tell you to get lost?"

"It was more like a very unsubtle implication?" Totsuka replies easily, unrelentingly chipper about the whole thing. "Anyway, I didn't get to ask you everything I wanted to yesterday. I'll leave if you really want me to, but ..."

It's probably a little cocky of him to sigh, little notes of dejection sliding into his voice as he lets his sentence trail off. He's pretty good at pulling one over on most adults, yes, but the thought does enter his mind that trying this on an immortal undead monster might be a little unwise.

His risk pays out, though, as a few seconds later King sighs in defeat, exhaling a long line of smoke.

"What'd you want to ask me about?" He turns to look at Totsuka as he speaks, yellow eyes turning down to fix on him. 

'Most people probably think they're creepy,' Totsuka muses to himself as he meets King's gaze evenly. 'they're kind of pretty, though.'

"A lot of stuff, honestly," he answers out loud, fiddling with the book in his hands. He might be able to act like he's not nervous, even be convincing about it most of the time, but in this instance he can't help the anxious little feelings from bubbling up inside of him. "Vampire stuff? But I don't know if that's rude to ask about or not. I don't talk to a lot of vampires."

"Vampire Stuff." he repeats back to him, mouth twitching a little in either annoyance or amusement, possibly a combination of both.

"Yeah! How often do you see a vampire just hanging around here? Well, maybe often, but I personally don't? I didn't think there even _were_ vampires in Japan."  
"Just a few."

Totsuka blinks, a little surprised as he processes the information. His smile widens a little, not from what's been said, but more the fact that King's answering him. 

"Doesn't that get lonely, if there's only a few of you?" The one surprises King again, he can tell by the way he lifts his eyebrows. "Or, I guess you've got I wear my sunglasses at night-san, yeah? Are you good friends?"

"Kusanagi? He's my only friend." King snorts around his cigarette.

"What, no way!" Totsuka's disbelief is only partially feigned. "You're really cool, and kind of nice? I bet a lot of people would like to be your friend."  
King gives him one of Those Looks again and he really can't help the giggle that escapes his mouth.

"I'm serious, though! For a vampire you seem like a really nice person." He pipes up again, tripping over his words a little from the laughter, but his does mean it sincerely. He thinks King can tell because he just shakes his head.

"'For a vampire.' You just said I was the first one you'd seen."

"Yeah! Which means I could say about anything and it'd be correct for me."

He turns his head to look away from him and Totsuka is almost positive that it's so he doesn't see him smiling. It makes it easy for him to follow up, voice still a little not-nervous blustery, moving more on momentum than actual confidence.

"But, that's kind of what I wanted to ask you about, you know. That one time, I mean, when you ... helped me, with those yokai."

King's quiet for a moment, still not looking back at him as he inhales on his cigarette.

"Why were those guys after you in the first place?" 

"... because I saw them?" Totsuka answers, a little haltingly-- does he really not know how that works? By the way King turns his head back to look at him with a clear expression of 'I don't get it', apparently not.

"Most people who can see yokai ... are exorcists, and there's a lot of tension there? Things weren't as bad for a while when that special police force ... Scepter something? Was active? They kind of kept things from getting out of hand. But a year or two ago something happened and they withdrew from almost everything ... so now all the big exorcist families have been squabbling over territory and trying to recruit or kick out anything not human living in their area."

It's not the best explanation, all secondhand information he's heard from his uncle over past few years cobbled together in a few (hopefully) understandable sentences. He leaves out the part where those Kamaitachi boys _knew_ he wasn't an exorcist but were going to hurt him anyway-- some yokai were just like that. And they hadn't been able to really hurt him, after all. Everything had turned out all right in the end, so he sees no point in dwelling on it.

"Heard most of that before," King takes one last drag on his quickly dying cigarette before dropping it the ground, crushing the still glowing cherry under his foot. "Doesn't give them a good excuse to go around attacking kids."

It's Totsuka's turn to smile, looking almost conspiratorial as he hums; "Ah, King's so chivalrous. How are you gonna convince me that you're a dangerous bloodsucker now?"

"Usually don't have much of a problem with it."

"You must've messed up pretty badly with me then, huh?"

"You're just weird."

"Rude!" Totsuka's mock offense is a little weak with how pleased he looks. A vampire calling you weird isn't something that most people can say they've experienced, is it? He chooses to view it as an accomplishment.

King looks like he's considering lighting another cigarette, eying the half-full pack in his hand before thinking better of it and placing it back in his jacket. (Another beat-up leather affair, Totsuka notices, similar to one he gave him that day.) He takes a few steps back towards the door, without another look or word towards the boy, again putting Totsuka in the situation of deciding whether to try and engage him again or not.

"Are you gonna be here tomorrow?" It's something of a compromise, he supposes. Being too forceful with King doesn't seem the route to go, from their brief conversations so far. It's almost like interacting with a wild animal, but ... animals usually react that way out of fear. It's hard for Totsuka think that King's could be afraid of him, knowing how powerless he is. What's there to fear?

He doesn't get an answer to his question before the man disappears back inside the bar, but he isn't told 'no'. 

It's King's own fault for not figuring out how that works by now.

\---

It might've been better for Totsuka to have taken it as such, however, when he arrives the next day and he sees hide nor red hair of him. He lingers around the door for a good twenty minutes, circling around to peer in the windows for any signs of movement periodically.  


Maybe he was out, busy with something? With vampire things. That was possible. Or he was somewhere inside, busy with something else (still possibly vampire things) and didn't notice he was out there. Or he purposefully ignoring him. That last one he didn't like as much as his other explanations, for totally unbiased reasons.  


He's about to call it a day and head home before he hears a noise he can only describe as 'annoyance' behind him, and when he turns his head to see find the source is greeted with--

"Oh, Kusanagi-san, hi."

The annoyance he heard is obvious on the man's face, and way he's looking Totsuka over now. He should probably be afraid, worried at very least, but the look on Kusanagi's face isn't mean or angry. He knows that kind of expression well, can easily gauge when it's safe to talk and when it's better to just leave things alone.  


In this instance, he thinks he'll be all right. For the moment.

"Aah, he wasn't kidding." He finally replies, face sliding back into practiced calm with an ease that isn't all unfamiliar to Totsuka. He doesn't even ask how he found out his name, even though he had never properly introduced himself, has probably already figured out that King let that bit of information slip too.

"King mentioned me?" Totsuka answers almost immediately. It's hard to suppress his curiosity when greeted with something like that, doesn't think anyone would blame him for jumping at that kind of bait immediately.

"He mentioned talking to a nosy kid yesterday, figured it had to be you."

"That's all?" The amused expression that crosses Kusanagi's face confirms that, yes, he definitely is being baited. If he were more prideful (prideful _at all_ ) it might incense him, put out his mood at the very least, but Totsuka doesn't find himself bothered in the slightest. 

"That's all." Kusanagi confirms, shifting the bag of groceries he's carrying from one arm to another. It looks like a bag of groceries, anyway, but what would a vampire need groceries for?

"What are you going with that?" Totsuka's brain to mouth filter has never been that good, and it comes out easily as soon as the thought crosses his mind.  
Kusanagi's looking at him again, though looking _through_ him might be the better way to describe it. Totsuka feels his eyes on him, taking in what he knows to be an almost illegally underwhelming package. He knows what he's thinking-- 'what can this kid possibly be after?' It's a fair question, one Totsuka won't hold it against him for asking, but it never comes.

"You want me to show you?" Is the response he gets instead, Kusanagi's level gaze never faltering.

Totsuka's first instinct is to agree immediately, but, well. There are a lot of stories out there about kids getting invited in by friendly seeming monsters only to get promptly gobbled up. There are a lot of them for a reason. More than enough to make even Totsuka pause to give the situation more than just a brief moment's thought for once.  
It's enough for him to give it two.

"Sure." He replies, not nearly as confident as he is when he's been speaking to King, though he does a good job at faking it. King's easier to predict, from their interactions so far, but ... He can tell Kusanagi's curious as well, now. He definitely seems more talkative than King, from their brief interactions-- he has to wonder how they became friends.  


Kusanagi holds the bar door open for him, and Totsuka steps inside. Everything's still boxed and covered the way he remembers it from the other day, has that alien look of a place that's meant to be full of people fallen into disuse. The heat's still on, at least, a welcome relief from the frigid winter air outside that won't get any less brutal for several more weeks.

He follows Kusanagi behind the bar, through a door leading back into a small kitchen. There are only a few mismatched pans and plates stacked on the shelves, looking kind of lonely and unused, if very sterile. Kusanagi starts pull ingredients out of the bag, setting them on the counter in a nice even row, rice, cheese, a few vegetables ...

"You're actually going to cook something?" Totsuka asks from his spot by the door, safely out of Kusanagi's way. "Can you eat normal food?"

"A little. A full meal gives me a bad stomach ache," he pauses after answering to give Totsuka ample time to hide his mouth behind his hand, definitely not giggling at the image of a vampire with a stomach ache. "You wanna help? I'll let you have some."

He nods, albeit slowly, surprised by the man once again, even as he approaches the counter after Kusanagi beckons him closer. He doesn't end up doing much, just stirring things in the pan to make sure they don't burn while Kusanagi does all the actual prep, cutting the vegetables and herbs, combining the oil and chicken stock, though he does let Totsuka grate the cheese, near the end. 

Most kids would find it boring, but Totsuka's immediately fascinated. He asks about what Kusanagi's doing so often he just starts to narrate it out loud, sounding a little put upon at first but also genuinely happy that there's someone who's interested enough in what's going on to ask. 

Once it's finished he sits Totsuka down at the bar, plating him up a generous serving. 

"Red grapefruit ... risotto?" It sounds strange, but it definitely looks good. Totsuka's kind of starving, but he knows better than to misbehave when there's free food involve.  


"Yeah. Citrus and cheese are an interesting combination, I find." Totsuka just nods politely, smiling a little as Kusanagi fusses with a garnish on top of the rice. A vampire who takes cooking seriously ... it's kind of a cute.

He thanks him graciously before digging in-- it's _really_ good, and he tells him as much, earning him a little hum of approval. It's pretty tempting to wolf it down, but he knows better, pacing himself so he just looks thirteen year old boy hungry, not chronically underfed thirteen year old boy hungry. 

He's so focused on eating it takes him a moment to realize that Kusanagi has been watching him, kind of intently, so he pauses mid-chew to stare back at him.

"Have you decided to eat me after all?" He quips, after he swallows.

"Nah, I give up," Kusanagi just shakes his head, handing him a napkin. "You wanna waste your time harassing Mikoto? I won't try and stop you."

"Are you giving me your blessing?"

"My blessing to _what_?"

Totsuka giggles, more than a little conspiratory, a playful sound that seems somewhat at odds with the empty atmosphere of the bar.

Kusanagi exhales, voice tinged with annoyance yet again, although this time it lacks any real bite. It's a weird kid he's found, to be sure, but it's just one odd brat. How much damage could he really do?


	4. maybe i can aim this high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning i don't actually know totsuka's uncle's real name so i just made one up, if anyone does know it for sure shoot me a comment!

Totsuka's never been one for routine, but after that, it becomes easy. The path from his school to the bar becomes increasingly familiar, has gotten used to avoiding the cool winter winds in tight alleys and covered streets. It would be nice if the guaranteed heat of the place wasn't part of the allure, but that's been Totsuka's reality for about as long as he can remember. It's not something he says out loud, or even directly thinks about, but the draw is still there. Long nights with thin sheets and leaky windows will do that to a person.

King doesn't come out again, the first day after he talks to Kusanagi, and he wonders if he really is avoiding him, or maybe the both of them are just trying to play him. The next day he shows, however, makes no mention of the previous day, and Totsuka gets him to reveal the fine points of what blood really tastes like. (Salty.)

That's mostly what they talk about, in the beginning. Can he turn into a bat? Can he walk up walls? Will he crumble into dust if he's ever out in sunlight? Totsuka's assembled a whole itinerary to inquire about and King, kind of shockingly, answers all of it with the same blasé tone as if they were discussing any normal human topics. Maybe it's not as rude to ask about those sorts of things as he assumed? But Totsuka finds it more likely that King's just weird, and it's going to be difficult to ask anything that really bothers him.

Not entirely impossible, though, he thinks. Most of what they talk about are very general vampire things. Personal matters, for some reason, Totsuka feels are off-limits to inquire about. He wants to ask how old he is, where he was born, has he always lived in Shimizu, is his hair naturally that color ... those sorts of things. But the vampire stuff seems like safer territory, almost like a common ground between them. They're both weird, in a sense, but otherwise they're not really similar at all.

He tells himself King will probably find anything personal he has to say about himself boring, but then, he thinks King finds pretty much _everything_ boring. It only takes him a hand full of days stopping by to realize that he's almost always there, hanging out at the bar. A big cool powerful vampire who seemingly has nothing better to do with his afternoons than have some kid chew his ear off? It seems like a pretty unlikely situation, but it takes him to figure out a way to ask about it, that doesn't tread too deeply into unfamiliar territory.

"So, what do vampires do for fun?" It's the best he's been able to word it, without seeming too blatantly inquisitive about King's personal hobbies. He doesn't seem to perturbed, or at least anymore than usual, glancing up at Totsuka from his spot on the couch.

"How do you mean?"

"Like! You can't go out during the day, yeah? So does that mean you can only do night time activities, like watching TV or reading, or do you go out at night and do day stuff-- like night time frisbee! Could you see a frisbee at night?" Judging by his face, Totsuka thinks he may have left King in the dust somewhere around 'frisbee'. He can't help that it was the first thing to come to mind.

"Kusanagi'd know better than me."

"Maybe, maybe, but I'm asking you!" He points a little for emphasis, hopping up from the bar stool where he's been sitting. It's a trend, he's noticed, for him to defer to Kusanagi for a lot of things. He wonders if it's simply habit, or if there's something about what Totsuka asks him that makes it hard for him to answer. 

"There's no night frisbee."

"Oh ..."

He gets quiet for a moment, regarding Totsuka almost thoughtfully, deliberating.

"I read."

Totsuka's over-dramatic gasp makes his face fall back into that familiar grimace, rolling his eyes even as the boy practically vibrates over to him, excitement bright and palpable. It seems to almost lift off him, invading King's space and making him visibly wince.

"Yeah, yeah? What kind of books do you like? Is it, um, insensitive, if I ask you about vampire books? Do you have a favorite?" He perches by the edge of the couch, hands resting nervously on the back.

"Read Dracula, once," King shrugs, watching Totsuka warily now like he's expecting him to pounce. "Didn't really like it."

"Oh! I ... haven't actually read that one. I probably should, huh?" He deflates, just a little, the answer seeming to ground him further back in reality. 

"A lot of worse things you could be doing."

"Mm," Totsuka nods, all his noise and bluster suddenly replaced with a quiet, almost pensive look. Totsuka knows what he wants, to ask something of King, but therein lies the problem. He's having fun, talking with King, messing around. That line of actually trying to know him, to become truly familiar-- he shies away from crossing it. 

When he started chasing this, whatever this was, it was more or less a game, something fun to pass the time, to keep his mind off other things. Except, as the handful of days pass, Totsuka knows he's becoming more attached than that. He thinks about King, hopes King thinks about him, even if it's just for a little bit. To some people that might simple, obvious, a normal human desire, but Totsuka knows it's dangerous. Other people only become dangerous when you care about them, care about what they think of you.

He's having fun, right now, and it would be ... risky, an eventual mistake to try for anything more. He knows this, knows every rule that keeps him alive is telling him to leave this, let it run its course and move on when it becomes boring, like everything does.

The thought that this is going to end sometime, maybe soon ... Totsuka really doesn't like it. He'll be making a mistake doing this, he knows, but if it means he gets more time, even just a little ...

"Hey! Hey. If I read it, would you read a book I've read?" He barely gives King any time to respond before he makes the vital amendment, "I promise I wouldn't pick anything too boring!"

"... you wanna do a book club?" he isn't as wary when he replies, now, a little softer, almost amused.

" Sure! What's a book club?"

"... a club ... with books ..."

"That sounds fun, so, yeah? If you want to too, of course." Totsuka's relaxed against the far edge of the couch now, chin resting on the back of it as he watches King. The quiet anxiety of all his bottled up thoughts seems to have disappeared, his nerves becoming smooth and steady once again. The sudden onslaught of near-panic disappears just as quickly as it had arrived.

King's quiet again, for a short moment. Totsuka knows the look of bafflement he's wearing well, by this point. He thinks it just might be King's natural expression when he's around him.

"Fine." He says, with an air of finality, looking away as if maintaining eye contact with Totsuka is a strain on him. Maybe so he doesn't have to see how wide the boy's smile stretches, how delighted and content he looks, just from one word. 

\---

If Totsuka's uncle is gone even more than usual, he doesn't notice. That's not entirely true-- he always notices, but he's long learned to put it out of his mind, not to dwell on it. If he's lucky there'll be a note and a meager sum for some groceries, and if he's not ... he's not new to this anymore, he's long since found ways to deal with it.

The beginning of March is just as cold as February, but it's easy for Totsuka to imagine spring around every corner. Everyone else in his class buzzes with excitement over the quickly approaching end of their last year in middle school, the rapidly approaching first year of high school. 

Totsuka chatters incessantly and dodges questions like it's his profession. A year or two ago, when things were more stable, it might've been an option for him-- high school, at the very least. Now he simply accepts the unspoken impossibility of it. The way the landlord's been coming around the past few weeks tells him he'll be lucky if he even has the apartment to go back to after graduation.

All of this should be bothering him, and it is, kind of. Totsuka's never been one to let himself be weighed down by those kinds of things, and right now he has even more avenues than usual to keep his mind off dire topics.

The book thing doesn't go quite as smoothly as he thought it would, mostly because so much of the vocabulary in Dracula is simply out of Totsuka's realm of knowledge. King's too, apparently, despite his claim of having read it, as almost every time he asks for an definition he just kind of shrugs. This might deter most people, but Totsuka prides himself on being undeterrable. After whining with mock-despondency almost all of one Saturday afternoon, King disappears up the back stairs and returns with a truly massive old dictionary, which Totsuka learns from checking behind the title page is about ten years older than him.

So it's slow, but he's getting through it ... Finding a book for King wasn't exactly as smooth. He has enough trouble deciding that kind of thing for himself, picking one out for another person is almost impossible! In the end he turns to a classmate for help, a girl he knows to be extremely well read. His guidelines are a very vague 'pretty easy to read' and 'possible conversation starter', to which she nods seriously and provides him with a stack of a certain series-- she tells him it's popular in the US.

He hasn't actually read it, which was sort of the point of him picking out something for King to read in the first place, but he doesn't have to know that. He looks a little ... alarmed? When Totsuka initially presents the first book to him, after reading the back cover, but doesn't demand something else. He reads it, at first kind of skeptically, but he seems to get into it after a few chapters. 

Totsuka thinks it's fairly safe to consider it a victory, at least until that rainy afternoon Kusanagi-san walks in and looks at what King's got in his hands like it's a live viper about to strike.

"Where the hell did you get that?" He sounds like there's a dead dog in the bar, not some teen girl's novel.

"What?" King squints up at him, glancing around before he realizes he's talking about the book.

"I lent it to him," Totsuka provides helpfully from his spot on the floor where he'd been paging through the dictionary again. "Technically my classmate's lending it to him, through me."

"You've read that?" Kusanagi-san's tone is pretty accusing, and Totsuka's not really sure what to make of it.

"Well ... not exactly ..." Totsuka admits it a little more easily than he probably should-- he doesn't think King will actually care that much if he knows Totsuka hasn't actually read it.

"S'funny," is the exact reply he gives, with a casual shrug thrown in for good measure.

"... I'm glad you're enjoying it," Kusanagi-san just sighs, voice still incredulous, glancing between the two of them with something like suspicion. "Sorry for interrupting."

\---

The days stretch on like that, the weather slowly turning rainy and more temperate as graduation comes and goes. Totsuka hasn't heard from his uncle in over a week and a half now and he's really starting worry, didn't even bother going to the ceremony when he realized there'd be no one to let down if he didn't show.

He keeps going to the bar, at roughly the same time, though King seems groggier and even a little despondent when he lets him in while the sun's still up. Totsuka notices and starts coming slightly later, to try and make it easier for him.

There's a Friday where he knocks once, twice, and when no one answers a strange sort of panic starts to rise up from his stomach into his throat. King's always been there, save for that one time Kusanagi-san let him in, so maybe he was just out again? It was perfectly normal, totally explainable why he wouldn't be there, but he still finds himself thinking things like 'what if he's gone? what if he got tired of putting up with me?'

It goes on like that for a few queasy seconds until he hears a polite cough behind him, Kusanagi-san greeting him with a small wave when he turns to verify who it is. He's got groceries, again, and is still wearing his sunglasses despite the rain.

"You seriously are here every day," Totsuka can tell he's thinking out loud more than anything, but he stills feels like he needs to reply.

"Mm. Did King tell you that?"

"He did," Kusanagi ushers him to the side as he unlocks the door, before holding it open for him. "He's busy with something right now, so he asked me to come make sure you didn't hang around all night waiting for him."

"Oh. Thanks ..." Totsuka steps in automatically, though he isn't really sure why. If King's not there he doesn't have a lot of reason to stay around for the day-- but Kusanagi-san seems to want him to. That thought's confirmed when he motions for Totsuka to sit down at the bar.

"Would you mind if I cooked for you again?" The question takes him by surprise, a little, so Totsuka's voice is a little uneven when he replies.

"You don't want any help?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no to it."

Totsuka hops off the stool and follows him into the kitchen again. He's got chicken breasts this time and Totsuka has to wonder, what is he even planning to do with the rest? Entertaining some other non-vampire company, probably, and he doesn't bother thinking much further than that after Kusanagi-san gives him a small onion to chop.

All the prep is pretty quick, despite how fancy some of the ingredients look, but Kusanagi tells him it'll taste best if they let it bake a little while. Totsuka's so hungry that even as his eyes had been tearing up his mouth was watering, but Kusanagi obviously knows what he's talking about, so he just hums in a agreement.

The silence that follows after Kusanagi sets his phone as a timer isn't ... awkward, exactly, but it isn't entirely comfortable either. With King he's used to it now, knows when he's actually annoyed and when he just doesn't want to talk, but he still hasn't spent all that much with Kusanagi-san. After that one day he'd let him in, Totsuka hasn't really seen him come around again much, despite him supposedly owning the place.

It's not like he dislikes Kusanagi. He's actually starting to get the feeling that he'd like him, if he ever got the chance to talk to him. It's strange, but in a way, he's almost more closed off than King.

"Kusanagi-san?" He's thankful for how steady his voice is as he speaks, because he can almost feel his insides quivering, and not just from hunger.

"Hm?" He doesn't even glance up from his phone, fingers moving deftly as he types something in.

"Were you worried about King being lonely?" Totsuka notes the exact syllable that makes Kusanagi's fingers still. "Is that why you didn't run me off?"

There's another long tick of silence with a heaviness in the air that wasn't there before, and Totsuka's not sure if saying something was the right move after all-- but he's never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

"You really are a weird one," it's a deflection, obvious, but Totsuka knows not to push any further, at least for now. There's no malice in his voice and that's more than he could ask for, honestly.

After that he reads while the chicken cooks, sits still with all the patience of several saints when it's finished and Kusanagi plates it up with a lot more flourish than technically necessary. Totsuka listens intently, just like last time, and again Kusanagi seems quietly appreciative of it.

"Will King be back tomorrow?" He manages to ask between fork-fulls, when his mouth is hopefully not entirely full of partially chewed food.

"Yeah, he should be."

Totsuka nods, making sure there's nothing to muffle his words when he answers, "All right-- thanks, again. You're pretty nice too, you know."

Kusanagi just shakes his head, but he doesn't stop smiling.

\---

It's five minutes to midnight and-- did they even still have phone service? Totsuka swears it got cut months and months ago, but the harsh ringing can't be coming from anywhere else, and when he goes to check--there it is, light blinking and everything.

"Hello?" He's not sure who he expects, if anyone, but it the voice that answers is certainly one he's never heard before. 

"Totsuka Tatara?"

"Yes, that's me," his own voice sounds strange when he speaks, the receiver echoing the words back to him in the speaker.

"You're listed as next of kin for Totsuka Hiroshi, is that correct?"

He answers again in the affirmative, though he can barely hear himself now, the echo giving way to a low, grating static.

"I see. I'm very sorry to be the one to tell you this ... you may want to sit down."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it'll be an actual vampire fic with actual vampirism next chapter, i pinky promise


	5. the quiet things that no one ever knows

Izumo's become better at this than Mikoto, and the irony doesn't elude him.

Perhaps irony isn't the best word, it's a little unkind, but he can think of no better way to phrase it.

They had grown up together, born in an unremarkable neighborhood that still benefited from the unexpected bounty that arrived after the war. Even then it had been Izumo pulling Mikoto along, the older one, the more responsible one, the one who could actually use his words to express himself while Mikoto seemed only to have sour faces and sourer moods.

Izumo learned when to fight and when to smile and nod. Mikoto never quite got the second part down.

There was an expectation, when Izumo went on to college and Mikoto didn't, that they'd drift apart, that he'd outgrow him and move on to bigger and better things. That was what adults did, and he'd have no more use for a sullen boy with strange eyes in the real world of adults. No one would say it to him outright, wouldn't openly tell him something that rude, but it was still there all the same. It was laid down for him heavily, and the weight of it became even heavier when he continued to defy it.

It wasn't purposeful, done to spit in anyone's face or disappoint his relatives. There had just been a point where Mikoto had become an extension of himself. He didn't understand how he could spend so much time with a person, get to know them so well, divulge parts of himself he'd never let out anywhere else, and then suddenly be expected to let that go. He didn't understand how the passage of time could lead to letting someone who knew you almost as well you knew yourself fade away, into the periphery of your life.

They had been two stupid kids, grown up into two stupider men but they had each other, no matter what they had each other and that had been the problem, hadn't it?

When Mikoto had stumbled into his apartment that night covered in blood, some of it his own, some of it not, covered in dirt like he had clawed his way out of the grave and maybe he had, Izumo had never actually found out. He never thought to ask. It didn't seem that important, at the time. All he had cared to ask was if he was all right, and if there was anything he could do.

Things had shifted then, finally, but for different reasons than what anyone had told him to expect. The world had become both wider and more narrow than ever in one simple stroke. Monsters were real, alive and well, and his best friend had become one. There'd been a small, vocal part of him that had told him to use his brain for once _run_ , get as far away as he could and snatch that last glimmering hope of a normal life from the encroaching jaws of something he couldn't fully understand or begin to comprehend.

He took that voice of reason and threw it away, scattered it to the winds, and when the first set of exorcists came around, he forsake it completely.

(They weren't bad people, they only thought they were doing what would protect the general populace, but. When someone comes around planning to remove your best friend's head from his body and mutilate his corpse so he can't reanimate, that's. It changed some things.)

He couldn't really say when he first realized what would have to happen, if he even consciously realized at all. For a while he was too busy cleaning blood out of his carpet and hammering the curtains to the window sills to actually think in terms of time passing and passed. Maybe around the second set of strong-willed hunters they send packing, he thought to himself, 'Mikoto can't do this alone.'

It took some time, after that, to figure out what that really meant. That their lives weren't running on the same track anymore, that their parallel lines had been forcibly thrown out of accordance. His life would flourish until it didn't, slowly ebbing away over months that would turn into years and Mikoto would be in this by himself, inhuman and alone.

So, he did the logical thing. He threw his life away and convinced his best friend to turn him into a monster. (Here is the token footnote, that this wasn't actually the logical thing to do, but Izumo couldn't imagine anything else, didn't _want_ to imagine anything else.) Mikoto never really forgave himself for agreeing to it, but Izumo wouldn't have been able to forgive him if he hadn't.

After that, sticking around with the people who knew them as they had been became less of an option. Turned out even the local monsters didn't like the looks of them, just another pair of foreign invaders, by breed if not blood, so moving within the country provided only the most temporary of reliefs. Time started to move quickly and one town bled into another, years accumulating in the dark that permeated their lives. Izumo adapted, easily enough that it might unsettle most people, but he felt no need to scrutinize it too closely.

They stuck around Japan until they didn't, and after that, well, it was said they were more populous in Europe. Izumo had liked it well enough, but Mikoto's utter apathy couldn't be overstated. For some people, at that point, things might've begged a question of change in arrangements. (Several people said it straight to Izumo's face, a handful of times, and it never ended well.) Things weren't always _easy_ , tensions weren't always baseline but splitting up never even came into the equation, not even once.

  
('I got you this far,' he often thought to himself. 'I'm not going to abandon you now.')

So, yes, all these years, and he's more or less picked up on the fact that he embodies the whole urbane, sophisticated monster that's become the popular image for them over the decades. Whatever Mikoto's going for is ... not, but then Izumo knows he's not really _going_ for anything. Other vampires don't interest him (unless he can rile them up enough to fight him), other immortals don't interest him (unless he can rile them up enough to fight him)-- moving back to Japan had been something of gambit to see if Izumo could find _anything_ to interest him, and.

Well, the kid isn't exactly what he had in mind.

He worries, initially, because what kind of untrained human can just brush off a glamour like that? Mikoto tells him about the yokai he caught trying to pluck the kid's eyes out and he'd be a total ass if that didn't elicit even a little sympathy from him, but the whole thing is just ... bizarre.

He's hiding something, Izumo can tell, but the more he watches him the more he realizes it's nothing dangerous to them. The way he holds himself, how thin he looks, how he easily manages to somehow rarely mention his family or home situation. It's nothing malicious, a bait and switch or infiltration attempt by one of the local clans or something similar. He can't say with a straight face that the kid's completely guileless, but he doesn't mean the two of them any harm.

So, by all means, he's got no quarrel with him. That's what he tells himself, finds more and more that he needs to keep firmly in mind, even as he watches an underfed middle school brat charm his first and best friend in way he didn't believe was possible.  
He's long accepted that, as a general rule, Mikoto doesn't really _do_ other people. The number of people he's met over sixty odd years that have actually gelled well with him he can count on one hand. Totsuka Tatara doesn't hit it off with him so much as he crawls under Mikoto's skin and makes himself comfortable, like it's where he belongs. Mikoto's tolerance of his overbearing personality was nearly unbelievable for Izumo to witness, a lion letting a fawn chew on its tail without protest. Most people might think it an overstatement, but Mikoto doesn't allow himself to be imposed upon. That allowance alone for him is substantial.

It isn't what he was expecting, but he refuses to complain. Totsuka might be excitable but he's shockingly well behaved, pretty much the only standard Izumo has for children, and not entirely unpleasant to be around. Mikoto's shoulders seem less drawn and the tired lines around his eyes lighten, if just for a few hours, after he talks to him. As much as he acts like he doesn't need anyone or anything, they both know that's little more than a bald-faced lie. The front is still enough to scare most people off, or at least annoy them enough to deem him not worth the effort.

And Totsuka's just blithely unbothered by all of it.

It's curious, to say the least, but Izumo finds himself more reserved the kid than he has any real reason to be. Well, not entirely without reason-- humans are transient, ephemeral, children even more so. Most likely this'll end in the boy getting bored with them and running along to next peculiar thing that catches his eye, he reads like that type.

He's fine to let that play out, tries not to think about how Mikoto will react when the shoe finally drops. That's the plan he holds onto, prepares for, keeps other, fantastical situations from straying into his idle thoughts with.

He feels like he should be relieved, that first day he doesn't show. Isn't it better if it ends quickly, cuts any messy, painful feelings short? That's for the best, certainly, but,

"Were you worried about King being lonely?"

Something about it just doesn't seem right.

\---

The hospital is too far to walk to, and it's too late to take the subway. Totsuka doesn't sleep, fitfully flirts with unconsciousness until the sun rises and he leaves the apartment, every step and movement automatic, his body going along even as his brain stays gridlocked, suspended from thought.

'Your uncle passed this afternoon,' the doctor's voice plays on repeat in his head, a constant loop that starts and stops with each breath he takes. 'He'd been sick for a long time. I'm so sorry for your loss.'

He knows the man only meant well-- people rarely ever mean ill when they say something like that. He has certainly lost something, hasn't he? The guardian who raised him, gave him a place to live and grow. That's worth mourning, worth feeling that ache of loss over, but he only feels numb, a cold that spreads out from his chest and settles heavy in his limbs.

He should feel sadness, feel upset, but the emotions never come. Even on the train, surrounded by people going about their daily lives as if his own hasn't been flung into uncertainty, he keeps his expression mild, his eyes dry. It's pointless to make a scene, he tells himself, he doesn't want the pity of strangers. He tries not to linger on the thought that even if he were to do it, the feelings would be disingenuous.

The hospital isn't one he's been in before, the clinic he usually goes to much closer to the apartment. He was too shell-shocked the night before to ask the man on the phone where he should go, or who he should he speak to, so he stands in the entry hall awkwardly for a few long moments on arrival, the smell of sanitizer and sick settling over him with unease.

He mirrors the smile the woman at the front desk gives him, when he finally makes his way over to it. It's a habit, easy and immediate, and he realizes the second he does it that isn't not appropriate from him to smile right now, is it?  
"Are you here to visit?" if she finds it strange when he drops the smile she doesn't indicate it openly, and Totsuka's grateful for it.

"Not ... exactly, um," he stumbles over the words, uncharacteristically clumsy. "I got a call from Doctor ... Fujikawa, last night, my uncle was his patient ..."

"Oh ... oh!" The woman's face falters, bowing her head in apology. "I'm sorry, I'll let him know you'll arrived. If you'd just go to waiting room C, he'll be out in just a few minutes."

Totsuka thanks her and follows the directions helpfully posted along the walls to the room. It's empty, save for elderly couple talking in hushed voices in the far corner. The chairs are uncomfortable and the quiet, almost droning music playing softly over the loudspeakers does little to put him at ease. His eyes dart over the non-descript eggshells walls, too anxious to try paging through one of the dated magazines spread generously throughout the room.

"Totsuka-kun?" He almost startles when he hears his name, seems like he's only been sitting for a few seconds before the doctor appears. The man’s stern looking, has a dour kind of face, and Totsuka almost smiles at him, before remembering it’s not appropriate for the situation again.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Doctor Fujikawa, we spoke last night,” he holds out his hand for Totsuka to shake, but seems to second guess the gesture when the boy’s mouth twitches in response. “If you’d follow me …”

  
During the trip to his office he offers him a glass of water or tea, which Totsuka politely declines. He doesn’t try to engage him in conversation again until they’re both seated in private, the room clean and nondescript, save for the bookshelves behind the desk and a solitary landscape painting on the wall.

“I’m aware whatever I might say will do little to truly help you right now,” when he finally does speak again, his voice is solemn. Totsuka finds himself alert, suddenly, for the first time since that phone call last night, actually listening to what Fujikawa says. “But I feel it’s only appropriate for me to apologize to you again, Totsuka-san. Not only for your loss, but for my failure as his physician.”

“Your failure as his physician?” Totsuka parrots him, desperately unsure of what else to do.

“Yes. I’m sorry I have to say this to you, but at this time, we do not have a cause of death for your uncle.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Fujikawa looks clearly distraught, eyes fixing on the wood of his desk as Totsuka blinks, trying to process the information. He doesn’t know what killed his uncle?

“On the phone, I thought you said … he had been ill for a while?” It’s as good a place as any to start, though he sounds unsure even to himself as he replies, the doctor nodding solemnly when he hears him.

“That’s what we were told-- to be honest, we didn’t know you’d-- that we’d have to contact someone else when he initially came in, we assumed the woman who brought him in …” he starts and stops several times as he speaks, coughing lightly into his hand. “It was his ex-wife-- she informed us about you, after he … passed.”

Totsuka is speechless once again. Auntie had been with him? That was … he hasn’t heard or seen her in years, since she left. He had assumed his uncle hadn’t, either, but it seems that assumption was incorrect.

“She asked me to give you her number so you could discuss … arrangements,” Fujikawa coughs into his hand while his other goes to take a small business card off of the tidy stack of papers that sits at the far corner of his desk, pressing it firmly down on the wood in front of Totsuka. “She was with him … at the end. I could tell they weren’t on the best of terms, but … she handled it all with as much grace as you could hope for.”

If he were a normal person, Totsuka thinks that might be where he should start to cry. He feels something cold and hard in the pit of his stomach, eating away at him under the surface. It hurts, in a quiet, aching way, but his eyes stay dry. More than wounded, he gets the distinct sense that he’s failed in some unspoken way. His uncle was-- he took care of him, as well as he could manage. He could be mean at times, when he was in a bad mood or things were especially dire, and Totsuka had just accepted it as the way things had to be. He kept his eyes forward, expression light, and his uncle had called him aloof, too distant for someone his age. Didn’t he ever get upset at _anything_ , like a normal child would?

  
(Seems like that answer still isn’t what it should be.)

“I know … this is not the easiest time to discuss, but I was wondering if there’s anything you could tell me me about your uncle’s illness,” Fujikawa continues on gently after a moment of silence, Totsuka’s gaze still fixed upon the delicate handwriting on the card. “Koizumi-san knew very little about it, which is entirely understandable, of course ...”

Koizumi Sara is the name on the card-- Totsuka doesn’t know if that was her maiden name, or if she married again after she left. He hopes she’s happy, either way.

“I didn’t know he was sick,” is the answer gives, still not looking up at the doctor. It’s the truth; Totsuka had barely seen his uncle over the past few weeks, let alone enough to discern if there was some deadly illness plaguing him.

But he isn’t entirely naive as to what happened.

From what the doctor’s told him, his aunts involvement, the kind of person his uncle was … whatever killed him likely wasn’t anything normal human medicine could’ve helped with.

“Sorry,” he adds, finally glancing up to gauge Fujikawa’s reaction. “I can’t be of much help there.”

“No, no, it’s fine, this must all be so sudden for you,” the doctor shakes his head, though Totsuka can still tell he’s dissatisfied with his answer. “Is there anything else I can do for you, right away?”

“Is there a phone I could use, possibly?” he picks up the card, glancing over the number written on it again. The house phone had worked last night, but he hadn’t tried it again this morning, and he doesn’t really feel like chancing it.

“Of course, the reception has phones for public use,” Fujikawa replies, moving to stand up. “I can walk you back.”

The trip through the halls and out through the waiting from and to the reception desk is as uneventful as the initial one to the office. Fujikawa greets one of the women manning it and instructs her to allow Totsuka to use one of the phones, voice clipped and businesslike once again.

“My personal office number is on the other side of the card, if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call.” He sounds colder, now that they’re out in the open again, but Totsuka doesn’t mind.

“Mm. Thank you, for everything, Fujikawa-san.” The older man nods, solemn, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder before he turns to head back into the maze of hospital halls.

He watches him until he disappears from view, and after that, Totsuka turns to eye the phone, apprehensive. He hasn’t spoken to his aunt since she left, a stormy night he barely remembers now, years in past. He had assumed his uncle had cut all contact with her after that, had never seen him call her or receive any mail. It’s hard for him to articulate how he feels about any of that, so he doesn’t try, swallowing the stale taste in his mouth and lifting a hand to punch in the numbers.

It’s a vague thought that crosses his mind, as the phone rings, but something about the smell of hospital has changed. That complete sterility isn’t quite all there, anymore. There’s a cloying note of something else now, sour, like decay. The people milling through seem more anxious, almost afraid, even the receptionist’s smile seems thinner and drawn, unease written clear in her eyes.

“Hello, you’ve reached the Koizumi residence,” Totsuka barely hears the voicemail message as it starts to play back, his aunt’s voice strangely cheerful as he fixes his eyes to the sliding front doors, the creature firmly in his periphery but not his focus.

  
It looks … like a fox, but larger, the size of a tiger or lion like he’d seen in the zoo when he was younger. Its fur is a shining, pure white, cleaner and more vibrant than the dingy hospital floors. It would be almost pretty, if not for the fact that … there was nothing, where its face should be. Just a gaping black hole, starting just under its ears and going down to where its neck would meet its chin, almost like a mask.

There are some yokai, he knows, that like to hang around places like this. Where human suffering and death is easily found, and negative emotions are almost heady in the air. They were sustenance, for some creatures, better than food that could be bought or prepared. It’s entirely normal for something like to be in a hospital, he tells himself, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“Hi, this is Totsuka Tatara,” he speaks softly into the phone, voice quieter, low, trying to stay as unassuming as humanly possible. It was almost funny how a few seconds ago he was worrying about what kind of message he’d have to leave. Now every part of him was focused on getting out of the room as quickly and inconspicuously as possible.

He keeps it short, giving his home phone and address, every he says barely above a whisper. He doesn’t know how or why, but the fox moves closer desk-- he doesn’t see it walk, he simply blinks, and it’s suddenly standing next to an elderly orderly, it’s void of a face pointing in Totsuka’s direction. The smell of rotting meat is palpable.

Totsuka thinks he might say goodbye twice, carefully hanging up the phone. The receptionist doesn’t even look at him now, completely occupied with something on her computer screen. He takes a deep breath, readying himself. He hates doing this, always has, but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. There’s one sure way to run a creatures hiding out of normal sight, something all of them absolutely _hate_.

He squares his shoulders, letting out another breath, and turns to walk directly at the thing. He doesn’t stop or slow his pace as he quickly approaches it, keeps his expression light and thoughtless, like he isn’t even consciously thinking about what he’s doing, and steadily marches right up to the fox

And passes right through it.

That happens, sometimes, he’s had it happen before, and he keeps walking heading straight for the door. He counts every breath he takes in and out tries to ignore the wave of ice cold, bone shaking revulsion that rolls over him after he steps through the place the beast was, keeping his eyes fixed ahead as he goes out the door and out of the hospital.

The fresh air settles his stomach, and he breathes it in deep. He pauses for a moment once he’s a good block away from the hospital, leaning against the cool siding of an office building to steady himself. He didn’t really have anything planned for the rest of the day, but after seeing that thing, he really just wants to go home.

Totsuka takes the busiest street back to the subway entrance, the small throngs of people and the chatter of the city putting him at ease. It doesn’t banish the image of the creature from his mind entirely, and he doubts he’ll be able to forget it for a long time, but it’s easier to put it away from, imagine that it’s miles away, surrounded by other people.

His head’s a little less in the clouds during the trainride back, though he still doesn’t feel entirely all there. There wasn’t a lot that he was expecting from the visit, but it’s made things start to sink in. Even as he boards the train, he can’t stop thinking about how many times he’s done it before, while his uncle was alive. And now he’s not. It feels like something about this thing that he’s done hundreds, maybe thousands of times should suddenly be different, there’s something about it he should see in a new light. But it’s all the same as it ever was, from the moment he swipes his pass to when he finds a vacant seat close to the door. All the same as the day before.

There’s nothing different. He barely even feels different. He knows, again, that’s not normal. No child that loses the last person who still took care of them should just be soldiering on like usual, should they? His uncle had always said there was something wrong with him, that way. When he was very drunk or very angry (or more often both), he’d go a step further, saying things like he had a hole where his heart should be. Totsuka didn’t even feel hurt when he said things like that, which was probably more telling. He just got used to it, over time. He gets used to everything.

On the short walk from the subway stop back to the apartment, he finds himself mulling over more immediate issues. What was he supposed to do, now? He has no way to keep the apartment, unless he gets a job. He’s never had one before, and doesn’t know what he can even do that would make enough to pay for the apartment, along with utilities and food, especially in the city. He could move, but where would he even go? Everyone he knows lives in Shimizu.

He’ll need to do something about the phone, at the very least. Checking if it still works is the first order of business, especially if Koizumi-san (he corrects himself from referring to her as his aunt) is going to call him back.

He’s determined, as he unlocks the door, to get that much done, at least. He doesn’t notice the voice calling out to him the first time, thinking it a neighbor carrying on a conversation around him.

“Human child.”

The smell of rotting meat is overwhelming, hits him like a ton bricks and he almost stumbles, one foot over the threshold of the door. He knows who it is, somehow, but he still looks anyway, turning his head just enough to look over, down the hallway.

The fox wears a real mask, now, like the kind they sell at summer festivals. The red smile painted onto its mouth makes him queasy. The space where it sits seems to darken around it, like all the light in the hall is turning away from it, hiding.

“Human child,” he hears it start, but doesn’t let it finish, pulling himself through the door and slamming it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt forget you!! real life has been kicking my butthole. if you can believe it, this was chapter originally intended to be even longer than it is, but im giving in here.


	6. echo, my voice is an echo

The apartment itself is safe. This is a truth that Totsuka has known for as long as he can remember. His uncle was never a great talent at what he did, his abilities measly compared to many others that lived in the city, but he was more than half-way decent at sealing and banishment. Even as Totsuka leans heavily against the front door, he can feel the magic in it, see the lines of thick black ink drawn again and again every year by his uncle to keep anything unwanted _out_. Whatever that thing is, whatever it wants from him— it can’t reach as long as he stays inside.

That’s what Totsuka tells himself, anyways, repeats it in his mind as he slides heavily to floor, still leaning against the door as he wills his breathing to even out and steady. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hiding his face as inhales deeply through his nose, counting out long beats before exhaling. Worrying about it won’t do anything to help his current situation, that much he knows. The sooner he calms down the sooner he can figure out how to proceed.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s seen something frightening. He’s always seen things he wasn’t supposed to see, that _humans_ weren’t supposed to see. He wasn’t one of those people who thought every yokai or spirit was an abomination that had no right to live in the same world as humans … but he also knew that they were different. They had different rules, their own list of things that were and were not socially acceptable. Some of the stuff that they considered eccentric, or a little distasteful … aren’t things that Totsuka wants to think about too much, at the moment.

Once his legs stop shaking when he tries to stand up, Totsuka heads into the kitchen. He tries the phone again, trying not feel too discouraged when he doesn’t hear the dial tone when he picks it up. The power’s still on, at least, and he tests the water in the sink to make sure it’s still running as well. He doubts his uncle paid for anything beyond this month, but there’s a week or two left of it yet. The weather’s getting warmer so he doesn’t need the heater to be running, and as long as the landlord doesn’t come around snooping he can probably stay there until the rent is due.

After that … he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He’ll have to cross that bridge when he comes to it.

Without really knowing or meaning to, he finds himself standing in front of his uncle’s room. He rarely went inside when he was alive, and now, well, it hasn’t even been twenty four hours. Part of him wants to leave it as it is for the moment, something about how disturbing whatever few possessions his uncle had will make this all too real. Like it isn’t already firmly in the territory of real, like he hasn’t just been to talk to the man who declared him deceased.

If there's anything left in the apartment that will help strengthen the wards, however, Totsuka knows that's where he'll find it. He swallows his sentimentality, determined as he reaches out to turn the doorknob, stepping in and flicking on the light switch before he has another chance to second guess himself.

The room is unsurprisingly bare— Totsuka's own is more or less the same. The futon is still out, blankets strewn to the side, rumpled and unmade from the last time his uncle had slept there. Totsuka tries not to focus on it, forces his head up as he heads over to the closet, pulling open the door to peer inside. There's a single rumpled suit on a hanger, and a few other pieces of clothing thrown haphazardly over several squashed shoe boxes. Totsuka carefully pulls the clothing away, grabbing the stack of boxes and tugging them out onto the floor of the room, sitting down as he takes the first of the three and sets it on his lap. 

There are, surprisingly enough, a pair of shoes inside. Nice ones, that Totsuka doesn't think he's ever seen his uncle wear, at least in recent memory. Folded up carefully inside the left one is a thick stack of talismans, the paper yellowed and ink faded. They might not be effective anymore, Totsuka's well aware they expire and lose their power over time, but he still takes them out, setting them to the side as he moves on to the next box. There's a single half-full bottle of the ink he remembers, along with countless empty ones, insides stained black. He figures with a little water he might be able to revive them for a few strokes, enough to reline parts of the wards on the windows. The final box is almost all papers, notes and receipts, some in his uncle's hand, and others not. There's a scraggly bundle of dried herbs wrapped in a note with writing so exaggerated Totsuka can only make a few words— fennel, nettle, St. John's wart. It's scent is weak, airy, but Totsuka still tucks it into his pocket.

He stacks the boxes back in the order he found, putting them back in the closet after he folds up the discarded clothes and sets them in a neat pile under the suit. When he takes the bottles and talismans out to the kitchen the hunger from skipping breakfast hits him, and the almost empty refrigerator that greets him brings another pressing issue to the front of his mind. He still has a little bit of money left, enough to get a couple groceries, but something tells him leaving the house today isn't a good idea. Maybe tonight, there's no way that thing will hang around all day, after all. If for whatever reason it does, he knows he needs to make sure the apartment is totally safe.

While the rice cooks he sorts through the talismans, taking the newer, brighter looking ones over to hang along the door frame. The rest he divvies up evenly between the windows in the bedrooms, making sure not to cover up any of the wards already there. He'll need to refresh them with what little ink he has, though ... if he does it, it might not even affect it. Totsuka doesn't have any ability, unlike his uncle, and his attempts to strengthen the work left by him might even hinder it more than help.

The rice finishes before he can come to a decision on it. He mixes it with some egg, a bit like fried rice, and thinks on it while he eats. If he's planning to stay in the apartment, he needs to be sure it's safe. If he found somewhere else to stay, it wouldn't be an issue, but he doesn't have that option at the moment. There are no close friends from school he can stay with, no old acquaintances of his uncle's that he'd _want_ to stay with. His auntie ... he can't impose on her like that. She left for a reason, one he can't fault her for, and knows she's probably the last thing she wants to deal with right now. Other than her, there's no one else he really knows, except for King and Kusanagi-san.

There's no way he'll be able to visit today, he realizes suddenly, his stomach bottoming out like he hasn't eaten in days. That's not entirely removed from the truth, but Totsuka knows it isn't the reason he feels so awful. He's been seeing King almost every day for weeks, now— or almost every day, save for the two when Kusanagi-san came in his stead. For the past two months it's been pretty much the only thing occupying his mind, and it seems strange that he hasn't even given it so much as a thought until now.

He mulls it over, long after he's cleaned his plate and is left staring at the cheap china, tracing the hairline cracks over the bowl with his eyes. No matter how he looks at it, there's no smart or easy way for him to leave the apartment today. If it was another creature, another encounter, he might throw caution to the wind— he certainly has in the past; but nothing's ever followed him into the building itself before, or called out to address him directly. When he thinks back to remember the feeling of walking through the creature, his failed gambit to convince it that it never entered his vision, he can't help but remember the particular aura he had found himself drowning in for that single second. It was like being dropped head first into cold water with stones tied to his feet, so complete in its smothering oppression he feels his stomach churn again.

The apartment has thin walls, allows drafts in easily and struggles to contain the barest traces of heat. He can hear his neighbors arguing no matter what room he's in, the cheap tiling in the bathroom still managing to amplify the sound. He knows every crack in the plaster wall and every trick to get the stove to light, and every spot that needs a pot or towel tucked into it to catch the rain water when it storms. It's all familiar, and perfectly safe in that familiarity. He goes through that list in his head, turning over every stone, thinking of nothing not mundane until every worry passes.

\---

The weight of unease that sits on his chest doesn't pass completely overnight, but it still feels lighter when the warm breeze flits through open window, heavy with sunlight and the promises of spring. It's almost enough to ward off the hunger pains that rise with him, a reminder that shopping is a necessity he can't afford to skip today. Laundry needs to be done too, he notes to himself as he dresses in the cleanest looking things he can find, but that can wait until the afternoon.

One of his neighbors is getting mail out of the boxes in the entryway, and he chirps a good morning to him in as cheerful a voice as he can manage. The man only returns it with stiff nod and a half-mumbled greeting, something not entirely unpleasant but still distant. Totsuka's confused when that expression suddenly sours, eyes turning down and away from him as the man coughs an apology, shuffling off just as Totsuka hears the familiar clearing of a throat behind him.

His smile stays in place as he turns to face the landlord, a man he's only actually spoken to personally a handful of times. Totsuka's uncle, on the other hand, was all too familiar with him, and for none of the reasons one would hope to be. He only ever comes around when the rent's late or someone caused exceptionably unignorable damage to building, and Totsuka and his uncle have certainly been guilty of the former more times than Totsuka cares to remember.

"Is your dad upstairs?" He doesn't bother with any introduction, cutting straight to business and giving Totsuka only so much time to react.

"No, he's out," The lie is easy, comes out of his mouth as natural as anything, and if the landlord immediately suspects anything he doesn't let it show on his face. "I can leave him a message for you, if you want."

"Nothing like that. I just need someone to let me in ... you don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not, well—" Totsuka doesn't know why, but he can feel the edges of panic start to cut into him. Letting the landlord into the apartment isn't a hassle to him, nor is there anything inside that Totsuka doesn't want him seeing. There is nothing inside that will immediately reveal to him that Totsuka's uncle is dead, and in fact not coming back to pay for the next month's rent. It's a perfectly normal request from someone in his position, isn't it? "What do you need in there?"

"Got some calls about issues with the water on your floor, I just want to take a look and make sure everything's working the way it's supposed to." The response is immediate and natural, the man looking straight at Totsuka.

"The water? I haven't been having any problems with it." The words continue to come easily for Totsuka, despite the unease he can't shake. 

"I still need to check, I can get fined if something's broken."

Totsuka nods, humming as if he understands completely. Totsuka does understand; that he and his uncle moved here after he lost his day job, cutting his income nearly in half. This area of the city is rundown and dangerous, the buildings are all stacked so close together there's barely any room to breathe, and the good jobs are stores are all at least two subway stops away. It keeps the rent low, and makes the amount of effort the landlords put into anything even lower.

Totsuka understands that something about this is wrong.

"Sure, sure, definitely!" When he speaks again he's all self-assured, big movements, the bravado following out of him keeping him steady in feet and voice. "But, if you're here, you really need to go check on the people who live below us first."

"I already checked their water—"

"Oh no, it's not their water. They repainted one of their bedrooms last week without getting permission! They kept everyone up moving furniture so late one night, I barely got any sleep! Their security deposit is definitely voided now, anyway. Go see for yourself! I'll go back up and let you in when you're done, okay?"

There's something in the man's expression that makes Totsuka still, the way the line of his mouth twitches doesn't reach up to his eyes, still staring at Totsuka with an almost glassy sheen. The more Totsuka looks at him, the more that feeling of unease that's been eating at him grows. The proportions of his face, the set of his shoulders, all of it seems just slightly _off_. 

"Sure. I'll be up in a few minutes. Make sure you don't go anywhere."

Totsuka nods, the smile on his face never wavering. "Thanks! I'll see you in a few."

He doesn't turn his back and head for the stairs immediately, stays smiling at the landlord until he lets his line of sight break as he strides for them first, Totsuka only following after there's a comfortable amount of space between them. Once he sees him step off on the second floor Totsuka practically races to the third, taking steps two at a time until he gets into the hall, to his door, and back into the apartment. The sound of the door locking should be comforting, he tells himself as he turns the bolt firmly into place. It's not like the landlord— the mildly suspicious landlord, who might not even be up to anything, and Totsuka's let his overactive imagination create problems and solutions that were never there to begin with again— is going to break the door down.

He goes into the kitchen, turning the faucet on and watching as the water flows cleanly into a glass, the same as it had yesterday and the day before. Shizume tap water tastes the same as it always has, not so bad that Totsuka minds it, and he drains his cup even as he hears the soft thud of a knock at the door. He doesn't move to answer it, or even turn to glance in its direction. There's no voice, no one calling out to him, just the quiet, even knocking that stretches on and on. 

Minutes definitely pass before it finally ceases, and Totsuka still doesn't turn around. He doesn't think the door's opened, probably would've heard or felt something else if it did. He knows it's silly, then, to feel the weight of someone's gaze on him, even though there's no way anyone can even see him where he is now. There's no more tell tale noise from the door, giving away the presence of someone on the other side, watching him, but he stays still. 

When he was younger, he learned that if something noticed him, it was generally best to go about as usual, acting as if it weren't even there. That meant walking into it, letting it trip him up and tie knots in his hair— whatever that yokai or spirit desired, to prove his reactions wouldn't be any more amusing than the other dozens of children it could be out picking on. 

But sometimes— some of them were more animal than not. Sometimes staying still, as still as you possibly could while still breathing, would trick that animal instinct and send its gaze roaming elsewhere. Totsuka finds himself doing it on instinct now, every movement ceased, the rise and fall of his chest moving only by the barest increments. He feels it when that predatory gaze finally passes, the tension unknotting from his shoulders as he lets his whole body relax, a sigh of relief heavy on his lips.

When the first sound of something slamming into the door comes, he drops the glass. It shatters on the linoleum as something _crashes_ against the wood, and he can hear wood heaving and splintering as his head snaps around to openly stare. The sigil on the door is glowing, a fluorescent white that sears Totsuka's eyes as it shimmers and shakes each time the door is rammed, burning every twisting line and symbol into his memory.

He's certain the handle will break and tear the bolt from the door if it continues, but for once, Totsuka's finds himself at a loss. He could escape through the window, maybe— if he falls he could injure himself, and the thing would know and be on him before he could call anyone for help. He could try to contact the neighbors through the wall— but if they aren't responding to the noise of someone trying to break down his door, would they even bother answering him?

Totsuka feels cold as he tries to think up exit strategies that he knows are doomed to fail before he even starts them. He's trapped in his own home with something that desperately wants _something_ from him, and if everything he knows to be true still is, it's nothing good.

The sigil burns ever brighter on the wood, even as Totsuka starts to see dents in the hinges. He still hasn't moved from his spot in the kitchen, knows moving any closer to the door is on the short list of things he absolutely should not do right now. But he can't let it out of his sight either, knows if whatever's on the other side of the door breaks it down while his back is turned he'll be as good as—

Well. Dead. Any doubts he had about the thing's intent are long gone, now, replaced with only a sobering knowledge of his own mortality.

Then, just as suddenly as the assault started, it stops. The door stays standing upright but Totsuka doesn't relax, doesn't stop holding his breath because the ward is still on fire, maybe even glowing brighter than Totsuka's ever seen before. It burns, more and more— until part of the outer edge, just a handful of lines, abruptly flickers out.

He hears another knock at the door.

\---

Totsuka sleeps in the kitchen that night. At first he hardly moves at all, except to sit down further away from the pieces of broken glass left shattered across the floor. Every few hours, like clockwork, another part of sigil sparks violently before going out, leaving nothing but a great swath of badly singed wood in its place. He tries to approach it, just once— it sounds like someone throws themselves at the door on the other side.

He doesn't eat that evening, barely drinks. Every time he moves he sees the shadow under the door again, watching, waiting. There's no point in trying for a window, he knows now. It'll just follow him.

After the sun sets, he feels the fear in him starting to go numb. He gets up, chances a quick trip to his room to drag the futon out, dropping it down in the middle of the kitchen floor when he sees the door hasn't suddenly burst open in his brief absence. He turns, then , to face the sink, before sitting down. He's tired, suddenly, and wants nothing more to do with whatever's taunting him from the hallway. It'll come in when it comes in, he decides, and there's nothing more to be done about it.

The sigil wilts like a dying rose, from the outside in, steadily overnight. In the morning only the innermost ring remains, and that lasts the better part of the day, eerie light the only thing to keep Totsuka company. It finally dies with the last rays of afternoon sun, the huge space it occupied on the door burnt black, unsalvageable.

Totsuka hugs his knees to his chest, watching again, as the door finally opens, the bare light bulb in the hallway flooding the dark room and outlining the creature standing in the doorway. The expression on its mask seems more garish than before, smile so thin and wide it could be a blade.

The fox steps inside, and Totsuka doesn't even try to run.

\---

Mikoto doesn't keep track of the days. He lets time slip through his fingers like sand, piling up around him as weeks turn to years and the world around him marches ever forward while he stays unmoving. He's heard stories of monsters turning to stone after they grow despondent with the world, muscles and skin turning to stone from lack of use until there's nothing left but a dead hunk of rock.

It's not the kind of thing that haunts him.

Utter boredom permeates his life, and it doesn't matter if its Copenhagen or Vienna or Shimizu, it's all the same people with the same problems. Kusanagi would shoot him one of his looks, if he heard him say that out loud, make a comment about how he really is no better than a wild animal. He complains, but Mikoto followed him through each and every one, unstraying for mile and after mile and year after year. Mikoto thinks he's more than entitled to some level of ire, after that track record of constancy.

So if Kusanagi wants to go revisit the shadows of ghosts long since faded in a city that hasn't been familiar to them in a life time, that's fine by him. Buying a building in their old neighborhood gives him a little more pause, but it's not his place to say anything. He ends up setting up on the top floor while Kusanagi rents a place further uptown, too refined for his tastes. They learned long ago that it was always better for them to have a few degrees of separation anyway, and actually living together usually ended in a lot of bitter words and property damage.

The days still meander by at a pace that Mikoto doesn't care to count or mark. The only things that draw his attention being the hunger that claws its way up his throat and into his canines, or the different hunger that seeps down into his limbs and makes him restless, more likely to swing a fist at a stranger in a dark alley. He simmers for days, weeks, cold heat building in his veins that's only kept under control by the familiar twist of smile and taste of cigarette smoke.

But Kusanagi can only be there to soothe him so often, has his own little world of under the table business and acquaintances to attend to. All of his days are numbered and measured, a linear path that he walks with ease Mikoto can't understand.

He understands everything else about him, so in the end he calls it even.

Mikoto can feel a connection to one other person in the great wide world, and that's enough for him. It's been enough for years, too many decades passing by while he remains only tangentially anchored to everything, "home" becoming a foreign word that he can't associate with a single place or time, just a single person.

There are no complex thoughts in his head, no reasons he takes time to consider when he spots the kid on that early evening. All he sees are predators and their prey, a couple of yokai brats attacking someone else, in all likelihood a territory dispute that Mikoto doesn't have any interest or time for. He still watches, all the same, until they pull him up and he realizes it's a human, guileless and weak, and he makes a snap decision. 

He's been witness to plenty of suffering over the years. More often than not he just keeps his head down, letting it pass before him when he knows there's nothing to be gained by intervening. And even when he does, he won't pretend it's because he's some bleeding heart— if there's a fight to be had, some kind of controlled carnage he can release bits and pieces of neglected energy onto, he'll throw himself into it, every time.

"Drop the kid." It's not a request, even as the weasel kids bristle and tighten their grip. There will be no challenge to this, the chance of any retaliation at all next to nothing. Mikoto knows this, but he still finds himself lunging forward and lifting a hand, sending it slamming into the jaw of the one closest to him. He hits the alley wall like a sack of bricks, curling up defensively when he slides to ground a few second later, only lifting his head to give Mikoto a look of palpable rage.

His friend has the right idea, however, releasing the human and hissing at the other boy to 'Just go! It's not worth it, let's get the fuck out of here! ' The wind whips up, dust and trash skittering down through the alley as they both turn tail and run back the towards the other end, not even chancing a glance back. Mikoto barely lifted a finger, and now he can feel his muscles starting to shift and ache for some _real_ action. You couldn't even call it a squabble, just a single hit that left him hungry for more, a wasted effort, and _why_ had he even bothered with this again?

It takes him a second to realize that the human boy's staring at him, eyes unclouded and unwavering. Any small trace of fear that had settled over him is gone, replaced with something like interest, almost fascination.

Mikoto's made a mistake.

\---

Everything after that is out of his hands. He forgets about the incident entirely, or at least tries to, until Kusanagi starts scolding him for going around in the winter without a jacket. Not because he's worried, he says, but because of the unwanted attention it'll attract from normal people.

He gets a new one by the time the kid shows up on the bar's doorstep, near frozen and entirely undeterrable. Mikoto can't even stay frustrated at him after his attempts to run him off completely fail, vampire persuasion and all. He's a tiny puffball of a human that likes to hover just out of his immediate striking range, overflowing with an energy he can't understand that nearly bowls even the unflappable Kusanagi over.

It's kind of funny.

Mikoto doesn't bother putting a name on whatever happens next. Kusanagi describes it as a one-way, ongoing conversation, whatever the fuck that means. The kid (Totsuka, he comes Totsuka eventually) comes over and talks in his general direction, needles him until he gets some one-word, derisive answer to one of his many questions. He should be ignoring him point blank, he knows, if he really wants him to get lost sooner rather than later. Mikoto knows this, keeps the thought in his head from time to time, but always finds himself letting it slip away.

Totsuka doesn't ask about how many people he's killed, or if he wishes he were still human. He wants to know how food tastes to him, if he dreams when he sleeps, if he eavesdrops on his neighbors. Totsuka talks about everything but himself, and Mikoto thinks there's something off about that, but that particular line of thought never travels far. He creates a kind of rhythm, a train of thought that doesn't make Mikoto instantly tired or agitated the way hearing someone talk usually does.

He becomes a fixture in the musty little barroom, something warm and breathing in a place that hasn't seen anything so sunny in years, and Mikoto lets him stay. With Kusanagi's permission, of course, and if there's some deeper conflict in his eyes whenever he speaks of him it's lost on Mikoto. If he can't be bothered to voice it Mikoto can't be bothered to waste time over thinking it, so he leaves it there. 

He doesn't expect it to hit him as hard as it does, the first day he doesn't show.

Mikoto doesn't know when it started, but his mind begins to ease out of that dreamless, deathlike sleep around the time Totsuka comes around, edges of consciousness waiting for the telltale noises on the street below. He sits on the precipice of wakefulness for an hour, almost two, until the sun's well set in the sky and fully rouses himself, inexplicably tense.

The hunger in his gut is a bare whimper, nothing to make his jaw clench and muscles twitch in annoyance the way they are now. He sits up on the bare mattress, glaring sourly into darkness that his inhuman eyes cut through easily, boring into the grain of the wood opposite him until he can see every line and mark on the wall. 

He can't place this unease that annoys him, aggravates him, so he does the only thing he's ever done about troublesome feelings that crop up around the edges of his mind and heart, grow between the cracks of the barren soil there and bloom into something he can't beat into a pulp with his fists.

He goes back to sleep.

\---

"You're upset." It's clear statement by Kusanagi, no question in his voice when he finds him sprawled artfully over the couch the next night. Mikoto hasn't gotten annoyed with him for being able to read him so easily in a few years, but he isn't above letting it happen again. He rolls onto his side, facing away from him, a clear response in his non-responsive manner.

He doesn't bother asking what's wrong-- they both already know what it is, and Mikoto's in no mood to mince words over it. What almost surprises him is the fact that Kusanagi isn't either, at least, doesn't immediately appear to be. He gives him one of his put-upon sighs, withering in a way that's only come after decades of practice, and leaves to take a call in the backroom. 

The familiar tones and casually shifting languages seep unguarded through the flimsy door, but Mikoto's in no mood to eavesdrop. Kusanagi has that voice on that could convince mothers to sell their children at a loss, he doesn't need to hear the other side of the conversation to know what it's about. He makes a rhythm of his own, one practiced and perfected, smooth in a way that only comes with experience. Mikoto's fallen into restless slumber more times than he cares to count to that voice, a sedative to his molten temper older than memory.

Tonight, it's not enough.

\---

He wants to say he doesn't know what he's doing when he gets up the next evening, but the intent has been clear in his mind for a while. He's up and out the door as soon as the sun's tucked safely below the horizon, casting the city in chilled shadows, the promise of spring temporarily banished by the remaining shades of winter. 

The kid (he's been downgraded, back to a title instead of a name in Mikoto's mind) hasn't been around for a few days, but his scent is still easy enough to pick up from the doorway, young and cloying. He lets his steps follow the path he must've taken, all while keeping his head clear of any reason or deeper thought. All he tells himself is that he just wants to confirm what he already knows, what he's known from the beginning, what Kusanagi's been telling him not in so many words but in certain looks he's been giving him for the past few weeks.

He tracks him, out of the old yokai neighborhood and through the city proper, following the dying trail until he's in a neighborhood he can't say he recognizes personally, but has been long alive enough to know what a slum looks like when he sees one. The buildings and people crushed together in only so much space makes even his nose struggle to keep the kid's scent from getting lost in the cacophony of humans and monsters, but he keeps going, through the crooked streets that seem to turn in on each other until he hits it.

All the natural aromas of life and death in the city grind to halt as he's almost assaulted with the smell of old, powerful magic. It hits him like a slap in the face, weighing down and muting all of his senses, a clear warning to anything crossing through to continue on their way. Normally Mikoto would be all too happy to take the message to heart, but something about it puts him on an unnatural edge, hands clenching into fists in reflex as he turns to approach the source of the aura.

It certainly doesn't look like much, a standard complex, about five stories tall, the dingy concrete of its walls just as bleak and dirt-stained as the one next to it. His nose is all but rendered useless, as good as a human's, but his hearing stays true. He catches bits and pieces of various arguments, disagreements, no one in the building seems to be having a good night, the natural unease of being exposed to a magic field of that caliber doing nothing for any of the tenants moods. It all seems to be perfectly mundane, ordinary shit, and Mikoto's about to try to and press on and pick up the trail again once he gets out of its bound, when a single voice cuts through the air like a blade.

"It doesn't have to hurt. If you don't struggle, I'll make it easy for you. You'll barely feel it at all. Of course, if you'd rather resist, there's a certain pleasure in that as well."

There's an unnatural, inhuman echo to it, a thin, reedy noise that puts all of Mikoto's nerves on edge and makes his muscles itch for movement. It's coaxing, almost gentle, but the barely masked smugness in it makes the true nature of the owner all too clear.

"Is there a third option, where you let me go?" Mikoto's already in the door by the time Totsuka replies, halfway to the stairs the second he catches the hitch of pain in his breathing. He's not thinking-- his body moves by itself, on instinct, running towards the clear source of danger when any sane person would be going in the opposite direction. 

It's a good thing no one had ever accused him of being smart.

He smells blood by the time he gets to the third floor, sweet and human and almost entirely masked by the stink of magic coating the entire area like a muddy veneer. Any human wouldn't be able to see the door flung open, nearly burned to a crisp, and would pass it by without even chancing a glance. 

"Your courage is admirable, child, but it will not spare you from your end." The way the creature purrs makes Mikoto almost sure it hasn't picked up on the fact that he's in its territory, which is enough of an advantage to make his strides long and easy, free of hesitation as he moves to stand in the doorway. 

It has a human form at the moment, a pale man with wisps of white hair and a face obscured by an old kabuki fox masked, paint faded and chipped in a way that does nothing to soften the harsh lines of its almost maniacal smile. But the creature isn't what Mikoto's concerned with, and his attention immediately falls to the boy it has pinned under it, trapped beneath its kneeling form. 

From what he can see, the kid's got no serious injuries, the blood leaking slowly from a few shallow cuts on his neck where a clawed hand is keeping him in place. If he's noticed Mikoto yet, he doesn't show it, gaze still fixed directly on the fox mask, expression similar to one Mikoto's seen on him dozens of time but not quite right, smile too thin and eyes too wide.

"Leave," any warmth in the thing's voice is gone when Mikoto steps over the threshold. "Seek out your own prey. I have no intentions of sharing mine."

It doesn't turn to look at him, but there's tension in its shoulders where there wasn't before. Totsuka's looking at him, from what he can see, but it's only a quick glimpse before fox mask lifts its other hand, the hanging sleeve moving to obscure the boy's face from his view.

"I am not above snapping his neck right now to keep you from stealing my meal."

"You running scared already?"

"I am _not_ ," its voice is little more than a hiss, the mask turning just a hair to give him a sliver of painted eye. "Afraid of something of your _like_."

"No? Coulda fooled me." The taunt comes easily, maybe the only thing in this situations Mikoto's not having trouble grappling with. All he knows is that he needs to distract the thing, try to get it off of Totsuka before it does something he can't fix. 

"This is pointless. Leave now or I will make you regret wasting my time. There are plenty of humans nearby, and you are free to help yourself to them. This child mine."

"Yeah? Pretty sure I saw him first."

"That is _irrelevant_ , even if it were true. As you have allowed another hunter to steal your quarry, any claim you may have had is invalid." It's voice is reaching new levels of hellishly grating and clearly annoyed, mask turning another fraction to 'look' at him more directly. 

"So prove it. Fight me."

The guttural sound of utter distaste is like nails on chalkboard, and it's moving to look directly at him now-- but he freezes, forgets to even bark out a laugh as Totsuka's hand shoots up from the floor, clutching something in his fist and shoves it under the creature's mask.

Mikoto's never heard _anything_ scream like that before, in all of his well-traveled years. It's part wild animal, part demon, and it sends all of his hair standing on end, a shock that almost makes him miss the second it takes its hand off of Totsuka's neck, huge plumes of black smoke beginning to rise from behind its mask as tiny bits of burning plant debris leak from under its wooden chin. He moves, too fast for any human eye to track, slamming his whole body into the thing, knocking it off the boy as he tries to grapple for its knife-like nailed hands.

It shrieks and burns as it rolls away from him, too fast for him to pin it, lashing out to leave a line of angry red claw marks along the side of his face, just centimeters from his eyes. The pain only grounds Mikoto, puts things into sharper focus as he aims a fist for its collarbone, snapping it with crunch when it connects, eliciting another unearthly howl from it as he snaps his other arm up to put a blow right to its jaw.

The thing is fast, but can tell by the way it shifts haphazardly and swipes wildly that it's striking blind, whatever Totsuka did to it hampering it enough to give Mikoto the clear the edge. The dark smoke still billows out from its head, despite the mask showing no signs of char, but he's not about to think too hard on it. His next fist connects with the wall instead, going clean through the plaster and hampering him long enough to let the thing get its nails deep into his side, the pain that shoots up through his ribs making his lip curl as his elbow goes directly into its neck.

The pain that makes the fox sloppy only serves to make Mikoto more vicious, every punch he throws with enough force behind it to shatter bones, tear clean through muscle. He pushes it back along the kitchen wall and into the tiny bathroom, huge chunks of plaster flying off the ruined sink when he smashes its head into the side. He doesn't even have time to blink when the thing changes form, skin falling away to pure white fur as it crouches down on all fours.

The tail is what gets him-- he wasn't accounting for it, lets it smack in right in the head as spins around, launching itself headfirst out of the closed window, broken glass falling to the concrete below. Mikoto's halfway to launching himself after it, adrenaline and bloodlust flowing freely, giving him that battle high nothing else on this earth even comes to close to satisfying. 

But the thing is out of sight before it even hits the ground, not a single hair of white to be seen in the alley below or even on the neighboring roof. Even the ungodly smell of the smoke is gone, lingering only the windowsill, the only remaining proof besides the quickly healing cuts on his body that the thing had been there to begin with.

He can feel the tightness in his muscles relax as he turns back toward the apartment after a long moment of searching the skyline, eyes drifting to Totsuka, staring at him from the spot the fox had had him at in the kitchen. There's fear in that look, the same kind he had seen just a few moments ago when he had been looking at the fox. He can't tell if it's still from that or from seeing him go at it with the thing-- wouldn't blame him if it was. 

"You okay?" It feels strange in his mouth, because he knows there's no way the kid could be. Now that he's got a clear view of him he can see he's got shallow little cuts all over his hands and wrists, the previously masked smells of sweat and blood all too apparent. Mikoto doesn't bother with social niceties for (just about) anyone-- but he says the words all the same.

"Oh? Yeah, I'm ..." Totsuka mumbles his response, wobbling slightly even at the snail's pace that he sits himself up, exhausting written heavily in every movement he makes. "I'm fine."

He doesn't flinch when Mikoto approaches him, so he figures that it's fine, crouching down next to him to get a better look at the wounds on his neck. The blood drying along his collar gives him pause, but nothing more than that. The hunger that usually comes after a fight seems to die on his tongue when he sees the dark circles under the kid's eyes, remembers what the thing had said about 'hunting'. There's a lot he doesn't know, a lot he should probably be asking about, but Totsuka just smiles when he meets his gaze, exhausted and quiet.

"Thank goodness," is all he manages to get out before he keels over, Mikoto experiencing a moment of true panic before he realizes the brat's just passed out.

\---

Kusanagi asks for so little in life.

Just simple things.

But he finds himself growing more and more accustomed to the idea that even his most mundane of wishes are at the bottom of the cosmic wheel of fate's priorities.

Mikoto walking into his new apartment that night, covered in blood, with an unconscious child slung over his shoulder is going on the short list of things he never wants to deal with again.

"Call Honami," is all the greeting that he gets before he feels his face instinctually fall into his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the wait!! i know i initially promised this would be an eventual ot3 fic but we're. not going to get that far in this particular story. i definitely mean to write that out eventually but. that's just how these things go. thanks to everyone for their continued support and appreciation, you're all gems.


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